Certified Copy: Abbas Kiarostami

I have to say that I am very surprised that Mr. Abbas Kiarostami has finally made a film that I can tolerate. That doesn't mean that I like it. It's just that the thought of watching it again doesn't make me want to shove bamboo under my fingernails. The film in question is Certified Copy, a bizarre reflection on love, relationships, and the nature of art. The 'plot,' if you can even call it that, concerns a budding [?] relationship between a British writer and a French antiques dealer. A good 80-90% of the film is comprised solely of these two characters talking...and talking...and talking...and driving...and talking WHILE driving. These are all standard stylistic tropes within Kiarostami's work. But for the life of me, I can't figure out why he keeps recycling them. After Taste of Cherry (1997), his film which controversially won the Palme d'Or, one would think that Kiarostami had gotten all of the intimate conversations between two people in the front seats of a car out of his system. But no! At least thirty minutes of this film is, again, between the two main characters talking while driving in the countryside. The film supposedly contains some kind of meta-commentary on the nature of art authenticity, but I simply did not get it. Roger Ebert's review of the film attempts to decode Kiarostami's unusual subliminal machinations, but even then the explanation seems forced and hollow. So, for all of my problems with this film, why do I say that it is the sole Kiarostami film that I wouldn't be opposed to seeing a second time? It's the acting. Oh, the acting in this film is positively superb. The two lead actors, Juliette Binoche and William Shimell, give positively stunning performances. This speaks to one of my biggest problems with Kiarostami's films: his actors and actresses always seem like they are sleepwalking. Kiarostami's trademark conversations and arguments were always delivered in a bleak, weary monotone reminiscent of Robert Bresson. But while Bresson used the blank performances of his actors in an attempt to invent a purely cinematic language of acting, Kiarostami had no real justification for the acting techniques of his performers. Binoche and Shimell's performances are like jolts of electricity into this mediocre film. So, at least Kiarostami has upped his game in at least one area. Who knows? In a few decades Kiarostami might actually make a film that I like!

6/10